


Be Still, My Foolish Heart

by grandfatherclock



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: Sex is like a dance.Dancing with Jester is always exquisite, Caleb has long since realized.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 7
Kudos: 162
Collections: Widojest Week 2020





	Be Still, My Foolish Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Widojest Week :")

The dress shows off practically the entirety of Jester’s shoulders.

Caleb swallows the cider quickly, ready to feel the haze of drunkenness coil hot in his stomach. He waits for his thoughts to turn a modicum looser, but they _don’t_. Gazing with annoyance more carefully at his drink… oh.

He blinks, looking at the apple juice. He’d unwittingly stolen Jester’s drink. A flush works over his face and he sighs, putting down the glass from the barkeep that Jester requested well in advance.

She’s dancing with Fjord.

Which is fine. They make for a handsome pair, the suit filling out Fjord’s shoulders nicely. The green silk hugs Jester’s frame and so do Fjord’s hands, one intertwined with Jester’s own and the other snug on her waist. His bright slitted eyes watch Jester’s every movement, his gaze enraptured, and Jester is laughing, giggles bubbling up in her throat as she whispers to him.

He forces himself to look away, which works only for a little while. He sits by the counter, watching the clock tick, but something about the sweetness of the apple juice sticks in his throat. Something about it feels so _lasting_ , and he’s sinking his teeth into his lower lip, trying to force himself not to look back at Jester, when he hears the plop of someone sitting right next to him.

“Oh, man,” Jester groans, hand running through her hair. She pouts at her glass, closing one eye and leaning low with her head on her forearms, her expression something like what her estimation of a very grizzled detective might be. “Who drank my apple juice?” Her voice is both petulant and teasing, violet eyes flitting to watch Caleb’s twitching movements.

“Ah, well.” Caleb forces his eyes to tear away from the constellations spilling over her lovely round cheeks, decorating her neck and crowning her shoulders, looking to Caduceus with an accusatory slant to his jutted out lower lip. Playing along with Jester’s charade. “Caduceus also isn’t a fan of alcohol, perhaps he got thirsty.”

Jester narrows her eyes, nose scrunching. He watches the shadows shift, warmth permeating her skin and sunlight edging around the angles of her face. His breath catches in his throat and his expression spasms into something open, much too open, and he wonders if Jester catches the unfettered _want_ coalescing in his dry lips and the colours rising to his cheeks and the scrunch of his eyebrows. 

She reaches for his hand, her painted fingertips ghosting over his blackened ones. Her watches as she leans close, so close, to whisper in his ear, “It’s not Caduceus, Cayyyyleb.” He can feel her shivering breath in his ear, and freezes as she presses a kiss against the shell of it. “And it’s not Fjord, either.” Her hand trails up his arm, touch still ghost-like, until it’s resting on the crevice where his neck meets his shoulder. “You owe me!”

Caleb studies her expression, fighting the urge to remain still like a statue. It’s been only a little while that they’ve been… doing _this_. Whatever _this_ is, whatever _this_ means. This thing where they sometimes hold hands and trade kisses, following the other into their rooms and pulling off clothes, crashing into each other like a heartbeat, needing to be closer, closer, _closer—_

“A room, please,” he says to the barkeep, tossing him a gold coin. His hand pulls up to grab Jester’s, and she’s laughing as they walk up the staircase that curls into the side.

* * *

Sex is like a dance.

Caleb doesn’t know too much about sex, but he knows _everything_ about a good waltz. It requires at least two people, a willingness to give and not just take. Reading the other person’s intentions with their twitching movements, knowing how to use your body in a way that makes them open up for you like a rose in bloom.

His fingers dig into Jester’s thighs, both of them splayed over her shoulders and her dress pulled up to expose her cunt. He laps at her clit with his tongue, each time from a different angle, and she whimpers, rocking into his touch as a hand curls through his hair and her moan startles in her mouth. “Cayyyyleb,” she whispers, breathless.

His hands slide up her thighs, squeezing her ass. It’s freckled like the rest of her, and he breathes in her scent, heavy with arousal, as his tongue finally sinks into her, Jester’s back arching as he does.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hisses, grinning down at him. “I taste sweeter than apple juice, huh?” She laughs, until it huffs into another moan as he curls his tongue inside her, pushing in deeper. One of his hands snakes back, to thumb at her clit as Jester sinks back into the bed, head propped up on a pillow. With every flick of his hand, his mouth, her muscular arms and stomach—where the half-pulled off dress exposes it—clench, and it’s mesmerizing, she’s _mesmerizing_.

Sex is like a dance.

Caleb has a strange sort of relationship with the recesses of his body. For the longest time he didn’t allow himself to acknowledge it, and when his fingers did inevitably find themselves curving around his cock during a lonely night and he felt the pads of his fingers trailing over a vein, he squeezes his eyes shut and prayed for it to be quick, miserable, unenjoyable. Even the small flitting sensations of something resembling euphoria felt like too much, and his slick fingers after the fact were always the gateway to a crashing sort of misery.

It’s impossible to crash into misery around Jester. She thrusts against his face like she intends to come on it, everything about her enthused, everything about her so full of life. Somewhere between when he pinches her clit and runs his tongue against her she’s spilling over him, a gasp caught with her teeth in her lower lip that only truly exhales when she pulls him up into a kiss.

Caleb’s mouth is slick, one hand trailing up her arm and cupping over her back as their lips turn languid against each other. His hair is loose from his ponytail, strands trailing down his face as he looks down her. Jester’s expression is loose, her lips open and her breaths coming slowly and deeply. “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he informs her, hiding his face into her neck as his tongue swivels around a hickey he left her earlier.

“I’m _pretty_ great,” she agrees, her cheeks darkening as her lips pull into a wide smile. Caleb has hardly a second to blink before she’s flipping them, her small size no match for her sheer _strength._ He watches with awe as her muscular legs brace over his lap, her fingers curling around her dick. It predictably stiffens at her teasing touch and Jester smirks down at the pre-come dripping off the head of it before slicking it off with her finger and tasting it.

“To your expectations?” he asks softly. He meant for the question to be more teasing but he feels suddenly so vulnerable, sprawling over this bed with its rumpled sheets, his scarred body spread open for her without the pretense his buttoned layers of clothes provide him. His shirt is pushed off, rumpling around his arms, and his pants are half-pulled off in the entangled mess that they became on their way to the bed.

“ _Always_ ,” Jester says, the word punctuated in such a way that he feels her possessiveness crawling over him like her hands bracing on his chest as she keeps her cunt just out of reach of his begging cock. “Hey, Cayleb?”

He stares at her with bright eyes. “Ja, Jester?”

“Always,” she hisses. Jester sinks down on him with one smooth motion, her cunt slick and a moan spilling out of her lips as she takes him fully. Caleb watches her, watches his dick slowly disappear into her. He holds his breath, just feeling how _held_ he is, how secure the grip of her hands on his shoulders and her legs splayed around his sides and her thighs pulling up to thrust back down have him. Have him in _place_ , have him here. Have him, period.

Sex is like a dance.

He just doesn’t know why she’d want to dance with _him_.

But she does, so he just wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close and mouthing at her jaw, her lips, her neck, whatever skin his lips can hook on and suck bruises into. Jester’s hand grips his hair tightly as he scrapes his teeth over her collarbone, bouncing on him frantically. Each time she pulls up to grind back down against him it’s with a rush of breathlessness, as if it’s impossible to pull away even if it's just to press back against him. 

“You feel so—” Her sentence cuts off with a high-pitched whimper, her cunt finding an angle she likes. Caleb gasps as he feels her squeezing around him and thrusts up to meet her, eyes trying to catch _everything_. Her lovely tits, nipples a darkened blue against the rest of her freckled skin. Her dress, falling over her and messy where it was previously form-fitting. The swell of her hips, how her arms are tensed as she grips him.

“You’re so _warm_ ,” she groans a moment later, and her fingers trace over Caleb’s cheek.

Caleb knows his eyes are doe-eyed again—that desperate wretched longing is working itself over his face. He’s getting worse and worse at smothering it. In the morning he’ll regret it, regret all the ways his longing makes him stumble into places he doesn’t belong. Here with Jester. Here in Jester’s arms.

But right now he doesn’t _want_ to smother himself. If they’re going to dance, they’re going to do it _right_. It’s what Jester deserves, even if he doesn’t.

His hips rock up into her, finding a steady rhythm to meet her hips when she takes his cock fully, again and again. Jester flushes, face always lovely, as she stutters out his name, cunt stuttering and tightening erratically around him before he feels her coming, lets himself come too.

Jester sighs as she peels off him and lays at his side, curling into him with her head on his shoulder. “We should dance,” she mumbles, tilting her head to kiss his bare collarbone.

The intimacy is so domestic that it’s crushing.

Caleb kisses her forehead, huffing a soft laugh. “We smell of sex, Jester.”

“ _Here_.” Jester pulls him up, her recovery always so quick, and when Caleb trembles on his knees Jester laughs softly. “Lean on me, okay?” The two fall into another little rhythm, swaying gently, and Caleb casts _Widogast’s Pretty Lights_ to make little green balls of light materialize around them while Jester casts _Thaumaturgy_ , little notes of piano music that Caleb remembers from the Lavish Chateau twinkling in the air.

He stands upright and pulls Jester into a dip, catching her in his arms, and he smiles at the pleasure working itself in her blown eyes. _I love you_ , he doesn’t say, can’t say.

_Yet_. The word shudders in his mind.

“You’re wonderful,” he sighs instead.

Jester’s gaze flits between his eyes and his lips. “You’re a good dancer,” she responds easily, even their conversations lilting into a familiar rhythm.

Caleb can’t find it in himself to fear that. Not when she pulls him into a kiss, hand reaching to touch his pec appreciably. He laughs into her mouth as her tail curls around his ankle.

_I love you_ , he thinks.


End file.
